Soft peace she brings; wherever she arrives

She builds our quiet as she forms our lives;

Lays the rough paths of peevish Nature even,

And opens in each heart a little heaven.

Matthew Prior (1664-1721): Charity.

And there is even a happiness

That makes the heart afraid.

Thomas Hood (1798-1845): Ode to Melancholy.

His heart and hand both open and both free;

For what he has he gives, what thinks he shows;

Yet gives he not till judgment guide his bounty.

William Shakespeare (1564-1616): Troilus and Cressida. Act iv. Sc. 5.

I give thee all,—I can no more,

Though poor the off'ring be;

My heart and lute are all the store

That I can bring to thee.

Thomas Moore (1779-1852): My Heart and Lute.

The Devil hath not, in all his quiver's choice,

An arrow for the heart like a sweet voice.

Lord Byron 1788-1824: Don Juan. Canto xv. Stanza 13.

And the heart that is soonest awake to the flowers

Is always the first to be touch'd by the thorns.

Thomas Moore (1779-1852): Oh think not my Spirits are always as light.

Bare the mean heart that lurks behind a star.

Alexander Pope (1688-1744): Satires, Epistles, and Odes of Horace. Satire i. Book ii. Line 110.

The beating of my own heart

Was all the sound I heard.

Richard Monckton Milnes (Lord Houghton) (1809-1885): The Brookside.

The fretful stir

Unprofitable, and the fever of the world

Have hung upon the beatings of my heart.

William Wordsworth (1770-1850): Lines composed a few miles above Tintern Abbey.

And Marlowe, Webster, Fletcher, Ben,

Whose fire-hearts sowed our furrows when

The world was worthy of such men.

Elizabeth Barrett Browning (1809-1861): A Vision of Poets.

The heart bowed down by weight of woe

To weakest hope will cling.

Alfred Bunn (1790-1860): Song.

An habitation giddy and unsure

Hath he that buildeth on the vulgar heart.

William Shakespeare (1564-1616): King Henry IV. Part II. Act i. Sc. 3.

Nor peace nor ease the heart can know

Which, like the needle true,

Turns at the touch of joy or woe,

But turning, trembles too.

Mrs Greville (Circa 1793): A Prayer for Indifference.

Alas! by some degree of woe

We every bliss must gain;

The heart can ne'er a transport know

That never feels a pain.

Lord Lyttleton (1709-1773): Song.

Oh, I have roamed o'er many lands,

And many friends I 've met;

Not one fair scene or kindly smile

Can this fond heart forget.

Thomas Haynes Bayly (1797-1839): Oh, steer my Bark to Erin's Isle.

Whoe'er she be,

That not impossible she,

That shall command my heart and me.

Richard Crashaw (Circa 1616-1650): Wishes to his Supposed Mistress.

Plays round the head, but comes not to the heart.

One self-approving hour whole years outweighs

Of stupid starers and of loud huzzas;

And more true joy Marcellus exil'd feels

Than Caesar with a senate at his heels.

In parts superior what advantage lies?

Tell (for you can) what is it to be wise?

'T is but to know how little can be known;

To see all others' faults, and feel our own.

Alexander Pope (1688-1744): Essay on Man. Epistle iv. Line 254.

To me more dear, congenial to my heart,

One native charm, than all the gloss of art.

Oliver Goldsmith (1728-1774): The Deserted Village. Line 253.

A death-bed's a detector of the heart.

Edward Young (1684-1765): Night thoughts. Night ii. Line 641.

Who dares think one thing, and another tell,

My heart detests him as the gates of hell.

Alexander Pope (1688-1744): The Iliad of Homer. Book ix. Line 412.

Never morning wore

To evening, but some heart did break.

Alfred Tennyson (1809-1892): In Memoriam. vi. Stanza 2.

And e'en while fashion's brightest arts decoy,

The heart distrusting asks if this be joy.

Oliver Goldsmith (1728-1774): The Deserted Village. Line 263.

Some things are of that nature as to make

One's fancy chuckle, while his heart doth ache.

John Bunyan (1628-1688): Pilgrim's Progress. The Author's Way of sending forth his Second Part of the Pilgrim.

In many ways doth the full heart reveal

The presence of the love it would conceal.

Samuel Taylor Coleridge (1772-1834): Motto to Poems written in Later Life.

Better trust all, and be deceived,

And weep that trust and that deceiving,

Than doubt one heart, that if believed

Had blessed one's life with true believing.

Wendell Phillips (1811-1884): Faith.

Her air, her manners, all who saw admir'd;

Courteous though coy, and gentle though retir'd;

The joy of youth and health her eyes display'd,

And ease of heart her every look convey'd.

George Crabbe (1754-1832): The Parish Register. Part ii. Marriages.

There is an evening twilight of the heart,

When its wild passion-waves are lulled to rest.

Alfred Bunn (1790-1860): Twilight.

Far from mortal cares retreating,

Sordid hopes and vain desires,

Here, our willing footsteps meeting,

Every heart to heaven aspires.

Jane Taylor (1783-1824): Hymn.

Men, some to business, some to pleasure take;

But every woman is at heart a rake.

Alexander Pope (1688-1744): Moral Essays. Epistle ii. Line 215.

If she undervalue me,

What care I how fair she be?

Sir Walter Raleigh (1552-1618): Poem.

Sensations sweet,

Felt in the blood, and felt along the heart.

William Wordsworth (1770-1850): Lines composed a few miles above Tintern Abbey.

Hide, oh, hide those hills of snow

Which thy frozen bosom bears,

On whose tops the pinks that grow

Are of those that April wears!

But first set my poor heart free,

Bound in those icy chains by thee.

John Fletcher (1576-1625): The Bloody Brother. Act v. Sc. 2.

Let us, then, be up and doing,

With a heart for any fate;

Still achieving, still pursuing,

Learn to labour and to wait.

Henry W Longfellow (1807-1882): A Psalm of Life.

Here's a sigh to those who love me,

And a smile to those who hate;

And whatever sky's above me,

Here's a heart for every fate.

Lord Byron 1788-1824: To Thomas Moore.

Had I a heart for falsehood framed,

I ne'er could injure you.

Richard Brinsley Sheridan (1751-1816): The Duenna. Act i. Sc. 5.

She gave me eyes, she gave me ears;

And humble cares, and delicate fears;

A heart, the fountain of sweet tears;

And love and thought and joy.

William Wordsworth (1770-1850): The Sparrow's Nest.

Time has laid his hand

Upon my heart gently, not smiting it,

But as a harper lays his open palm

Upon his harp, to deaden its vibrations.

Henry W Longfellow (1807-1882): The Golden Legend. iv.

Ward has no heart, they say, but I deny it:

He has a heart, and gets his speeches by it.

Samuel Rogers (1763-1855): Epigram.

Here the heart

May give a useful lesson to the head,

And Learning wiser grow without his books.

William Cowper (1731-1800): The Task. Book vi. Winter Walk at Noon. Line 85.

Maid of Athens, ere we part,

Give, oh give me back my heart!

Lord Byron 1788-1824: Maid of Athens.

The love of praise, howe'er conceal'd by art,

Reigns more or less, and glows in ev'ry heart.

Edward Young (1684-1765): Love of Fame. Satire i. Line 51.

Grief tears his heart, and drives him to and fro

In all the raging impotence of woe.

Alexander Pope (1688-1744): The Iliad of Homer. Book xxii. Line 526.

Where gripinge grefes the hart wounde,

And dolefulle dumps the mynde oppresse,

There music with her silver sound

With spede is wont to send redresse.

Thomas Percy (1728-1811): A Song to the Lute in Musicke.

Absence makes the heart grow fonder:

Isle of Beauty, fare thee well!

Thomas Haynes Bayly (1797-1839): Isle of Beauty.

And as she looked around, she saw how Death the consoler,

Laying his hand upon many a heart, had healed it forever.

Henry W Longfellow (1807-1882): Evangeline. Part ii. 5.

Fer.  Here's my hand.

Mir.  And mine, with my heart in 't.

William Shakespeare (1564-1616): The Tempest. Act iii. Sc. 1.

With that she dasht her on the lippes,

So dyed double red:

Hard was the heart that gave the blow,

Soft were those lips that bled.

William Warner (1558-1609): Albion's England. Book viii. chap. xli. stanza 53.

Yet taught by time, my heart has learn'd to glow

For others' good, and melt at others' woe.

Alexander Pope (1688-1744): The Odyssey of Homer. Book xviii. Line 269.

Do not drop in for an after-loss.

Ah, do not, when my heart hath 'scap'd this sorrow,

Come in the rearward of a conquer'd woe;

Give not a windy night a rainy morrow,

To linger out a purpos'd overthrow.

William Shakespeare (1564-1616): Sonnet xc.

Oh who can tell, save he whose heart hath tried.

Lord Byron 1788-1824: The Corsair. Canto i. Stanza 1.

What outward form and feature are

He guesseth but in part;

But what within is good and fair

He seeth with the heart.

Samuel Taylor Coleridge (1772-1834): To a Lady, Offended by a Sportive Observation.

The head is not more native to the heart.

William Shakespeare (1564-1616): Hamlet. Act i. Sc. 2.

How dear to this heart are the scenes of my childhood,

When fond recollection presents them to view.

Samuel Woodworth (1785-1842): The Old Oaken Bucket.

I know not, I ask not, if guilt's in that heart,

I but know that I love thee whatever thou art.

Thomas Moore (1779-1852): Come, rest in this Bosom.

True beauty dwells in deep retreats,

Whose veil is unremoved

Till heart with heart in concord beats,

And the lover is beloved.

William Wordsworth (1770-1850): To ——. Let other Bards of Angels sing.

Fer.  Here's my hand.

Mir.  And mine, with my heart in 't.

William Shakespeare (1564-1616): The Tempest. Act iii. Sc. 1.

To be resign'd when ills betide,

Patient when favours are deni'd,

And pleas'd with favours given,—

Dear Chloe, this is wisdom's part;

This is that incense of the heart

Whose fragrance smells to heaven.

Nathaniel Cotton (1707-1788): The Fireside. Stanza 11.

From every place below the skies

The grateful song, the fervent prayer,—

The incense of the heart,—may rise

To heaven, and find acceptance there.

John Pierpont (1785-1866): Every Place a Temple.

Oh the heart is a free and a fetterless thing,—

A wave of the ocean, a bird on the wing!

Julia Pardoe (1816-1862): The Captive Greek Girl.

March to the battle-field,

The foe is now before us;

Each heart is Freedom's shield,

And heaven is shining o'er us.

B. E. O'Meara (1778-1836): March to the Battle-Field.

My eyes are dim with childish tears,

My heart is idly stirred,

For the same sound is in my ears

Which in those days I heard.

William Wordsworth (1770-1850): The Fountain.

When thus the heart is in a vein

Of tender thought, the simplest strain

Can touch it with peculiar power.

Thomas Moore (1779-1852): Evenings in Greece. First Evening.

My heart's in the Highlands, my heart is not here;

My heart's in the Highlands a-chasing the deer.

Robert Burns (1759-1796): My Heart's in the Highlands.

My heart

Is true as steel.

William Shakespeare (1564-1616): A Midsummer Night's Dream. Act ii. Sc. 1.

A kind and gentle heart he had,

To comfort friends and foes;

The naked every day he clad

When he put on his clothes.

Oliver Goldsmith (1728-1774): Elegy on the Death of a Mad Dog.

Ring in the valiant man and free,

The larger heart, the kindlier hand!

Ring out the darkness of the land,

Ring in the Christ that is to be!

Alfred Tennyson (1809-1892): In Memoriam. cv. Stanza 8.

Oh would I were a boy again,

When life seemed formed of sunny years,

And all the heart then knew of pain

Was wept away in transient tears!

Mark Lemon (1809-1870): Oh would I were a Boy again.

And make my seated heart knock at my ribs,

Against the use of nature. Present fears

Are less than horrible imaginings.

William Shakespeare (1564-1616): Macbeth. Act i. Sc. 3.

And let me wring your heart; for so I shall,

If it be made of penetrable stuff.

William Shakespeare (1564-1616): Hamlet. Act iii. Sc. 4.

Let still the woman take

An elder than herself: so wears she to him,

So sways she level in her husband's heart:

For, boy, however we do praise ourselves,

Our fancies are more giddy and unfirm,

More longing, wavering, sooner lost and worn,

Than women's are.

William Shakespeare (1564-1616): Twelfth Night. Act ii. Sc. 4.

Look, then, into thine heart, and write!

Henry W Longfellow (1807-1882): Voices of the Night. Prelude.

Thy spirit, Independence, let me share;

Lord of the lion heart and eagle eye,

Thy steps I follow with my bosom bare,

Nor heed the storm that howls along the sky.

Tobias Smollett (1721-1771): Ode to Independence.

To know, to esteem, to love, and then to part,

Makes up life's tale to many a feeling heart!

Samuel Taylor Coleridge (1772-1834): On taking Leave of ——, 1817.

A merry heart goes all the day,

Your sad tires in a mile-a.

William Shakespeare (1564-1616): The Winter's Tale. Act iv. Sc. 3.

The head is not more native to the heart.

William Shakespeare (1564-1616): Hamlet. Act i. Sc. 2.

The music in my heart I bore

Long after it was heard no more.

William Wordsworth (1770-1850): The Solitary Reaper.

Something the heart must have to cherish,

Must love and joy and sorrow learn;

Something with passion clasp, or perish

And in itself to ashes burn.

Henry W Longfellow (1807-1882): Hyperion. Book ii.

My Book and Heart

Must never part.

One kind kiss before we part,

Drop a tear and bid adieu;

Though we sever, my fond heart

Till we meet shall pant for you.

Robert Dodsley (1703-1764): The Parting Kiss.

Heaven's Sovereign saves all beings but himself

That hideous sight,—a naked human heart.

Edward Young (1684-1765): Night Thoughts. Night iii. Line 226.

But on and up, where Nature's heart

Beats strong amid the hills.

Richard Monckton Milnes (Lord Houghton) (1809-1885): Tragedy of the Lac de Gaube. Stanza 2.

And we, with Nature's heart in tune,

Concerted harmonies.

William Motherwell (1797-1835): Jeannie Morrison.

Breathes there the man with soul so dead

Who never to himself hath said,

This is my own, my native land!

Whose heart hath ne'er within him burn'd

As home his footsteps he hath turn'd

From wandering on a foreign strand?

If such there breathe, go, mark him well!

For him no minstrel raptures swell;

High though his titles, proud his name,

Boundless his wealth as wish can claim,—

Despite those titles, power, and pelf,

The wretch, concentred all in self,

Living, shall forfeit fair renown,

And, doubly dying, shall go down

To the vile dust from whence he sprung,

Unwept, unhonour'd, and unsung.

Sir Walter Scott (1771-1832): Lay of the Last Minstrel. Canto vi. Stanza 1.

Farewell! a long farewell, to all my greatness!

This is the state of man: to-day he puts forth

The tender leaves of hopes; to-morrow blossoms,

And bears his blushing honours thick upon him;

The third day comes a frost, a killing frost,

And when he thinks, good easy man, full surely

His greatness is a-ripening, nips his root,

And then he falls, as I do. I have ventured,

Like little wanton boys that swim on bladders,

This many summers in a sea of glory,

But far beyond my depth: my high-blown pride

At length broke under me and now has left me,

Weary and old with service, to the mercy

Of a rude stream, that must forever hide me.

Vain pomp and glory of this world, I hate ye:

I feel my heart new opened. O, how wretched

Is that poor man that hangs on princes' favours!

There is betwixt that smile we would aspire to,

That sweet aspect of princes, and their ruin,

More pangs and fears than wars or women have:

And when he falls, he falls like Lucifer,

Never to hope again.

William Shakespeare (1564-1616): King Henry VIII. Act iii. Sc. 2.

Why should we faint and fear to live alone,

Since all alone, so Heaven has willed, we die?

Nor even the tenderest heart, and next our own,

Knows half the reasons why we smile and sigh.

John Keble (1792-1866): The Christian Year. Twenty-fourth Sunday after Trinity.

And when once the young heart of a maiden is stolen,

The maiden herself will steal after it soon.

Thomas Moore (1779-1852): Ill Omens.

If the heart of a man is depress'd with cares,

The mist is dispell'd when a woman appears.

John Gay (1688-1732): The Beggar's Opera. Act ii. Sc. 1.

They are not a pipe for fortune's finger

To sound what stop she please. Give me that man

That is not passion's slave, and I will wear him

In my heart's core, ay, in my heart of heart,

As I do thee.—Something too much of this.

William Shakespeare (1564-1616): Hamlet. Act iii. Sc. 2.

If the heart of a man is depress'd with cares,

The mist is dispell'd when a woman appears.

John Gay (1688-1732): The Beggar's Opera. Act ii. Sc. 1.

Pluck out the heart of my mystery.

William Shakespeare (1564-1616): Hamlet. Act iii. Sc. 2.

Out from the heart of Nature rolled

The burdens of the Bible old.

Ralph Waldo Emerson (1803-1882): The Problem.

For it stirs the blood in an old man's heart,

And makes his pulses fly,

To catch the thrill of a happy voice

And the light of a pleasant eye.

Nathaniel P Willis (1817-1867): Saturday Afternoon.

Heart on her lips, and soul within her eyes,

Soft as her clime, and sunny as her skies.

Lord Byron 1788-1824: Beppo. Stanza 45.

Tell me where is fancy bred,

Or in the heart or in the head?

How begot, how nourished?

Reply, Reply.

William Shakespeare (1564-1616): The Merchant of Venice. Act iii. Sc. 2.

Yet I argue not

Against Heav'n's hand or will, nor bate a jot

Of heart or hope; but still bear up and steer

Right onward.

John Milton (1608-1674): Sonnet xxii. To Cyriac Skinner.

To me more dear, congenial to my heart,

One native charm, than all the gloss of art.

Oliver Goldsmith (1728-1774): The Deserted Village. Line 253.

How cruelly sweet are the echoes that start

When memory plays an old tune on the heart!

Eliza Cook (1817-1889): Old Dobbin.

With a little hoard of maxims preaching down a daughter's heart.

Alfred Tennyson (1809-1892): Locksley Hall. Line 94.

The heart ran o'er

With silent worship of the great of old!

The dead but sceptred sovereigns, who still rule

Our spirits from their urns.

Lord Byron 1788-1824: Manfred. Act iii. Sc. 4.

A gen'rous heart repairs a sland'rous tongue.

Alexander Pope (1688-1744): The Odyssey of Homer. Book viii. Line 432.

Here the heart

May give a useful lesson to the head,

And Learning wiser grow without his books.

William Cowper (1731-1800): The Task. Book vi. Winter Walk at Noon. Line 85.

No one is so accursed by fate,

No one so utterly desolate,

But some heart, though unknown,

Responds unto his own.

Henry W Longfellow (1807-1882): Endymion.

Sweet Mercy! to the gates of heaven

This minstrel lead, his sins forgiven;

The rueful conflict, the heart riven

With vain endeavour,

And memory of Earth's bitter leaven

Effaced forever.

William Wordsworth (1770-1850): Thoughts suggested on the Banks of the Nith.

A goodly apple rotten at the heart:

O, what a goodly outside falsehood hath!

William Shakespeare (1564-1616): The Merchant of Venice. Act i. Sc. 3.

You are my true and honourable wife,

As dear to me as are the ruddy drops

That visit my sad heart.

William Shakespeare (1564-1616): Julius Caesar. Act ii. Sc. 1.

Dear as the light that visits these sad eyes;

Dear as the ruddy drops that warm my heart.

Thomas Gray (1716-1771): The Bard. I. 3, Line 12.

What outward form and feature are

He guesseth but in part;

But what within is good and fair

He seeth with the heart.

Samuel Taylor Coleridge (1772-1834): To a Lady, Offended by a Sportive Observation.

Scorn not the sonnet. Critic, you have frowned,

Mindless of its just honours; with this key

Shakespeare unlocked his heart.

William Wordsworth (1770-1850): Scorn not the Sonnet.

"With this same key

Shakespeare unlocked his heart" once more!

Did Shakespeare? If so, the less Shakespeare he!

Robert Browning (1812-1890): House. x.

Show his eyes, and grieve his heart;

Come like shadows, so depart!

William Shakespeare (1564-1616): Macbeth. Act iv. Sc. 1.

The sigh that rends thy constant heart

Shall break thy Edwin's too.

Oliver Goldsmith (1728-1774): The Hermit. Chap. viii. Stanza 33.

The light of love, the purity of grace,

The mind, the music breathing from her face,

The heart whose softness harmonized the whole,—

And oh, that eye was in itself a soul!

Lord Byron 1788-1824: The Bride of Abydos. Canto i. Stanza 6.

The soft blue sky did never melt

Into his heart; he never felt

The witchery of the soft blue sky!

William Wordsworth (1770-1850): Peter Bell. Part i. Stanza 15.

The harvest of a quiet eye,

That broods and sleeps on his own heart.

William Wordsworth (1770-1850): A Poet's Epitaph. Stanza 13.

Now the heart is so full that a drop overfills it;

We are happy now because God wills it.

James Russell Lowell (1819-1891): The Vision of Sir Launfal. Prelude to Part First.

A spring of love gush'd from my heart,

And I bless'd them unaware.

Samuel Taylor Coleridge (1772-1834): The Ancient Mariner. Part iv.

Give me a look, give me a face,

That makes simplicity a grace;

Robes loosely flowing, hair as free,—

Such sweet neglect more taketh me

Than all the adulteries of art:

They strike mine eyes, but not my heart.

Ben Jonson (1573-1637): Epicoene; Or, the Silent Woman. Act i. Sc. 1.

  Doct.      Not so sick, my lord,

As she is troubled with thick-coming fancies,

That keep her from her rest.

  Macb.        Cure her of that.

Canst thou not minister to a mind diseas'd,

Pluck from the memory a rooted sorrow,

Raze out the written troubles of the brain,

And with some sweet oblivious antidote

Cleanse the stuff'd bosom of that perilous stuff

Which weighs upon the heart?

  Doct.        Therein the patient

Must minister to himself.

  Macb.  Throw physic to the dogs: I 'll none of it.

William Shakespeare (1564-1616): Macbeth. Act v. Sc. 3.

Such partings break the heart they fondly hope to heal.

Lord Byron 1788-1824: Childe Harold's Pilgrimage. Canto i. Stanza 10.

What more felicitie can fall to creature

Than to enjoy delight with libertie,

And to be lord of all the workes of Nature,

To raine in th' aire from earth to highest skie,

To feed on flowres and weeds of glorious feature.

Edmund Spenser (1553-1599): Muiopotmos: or, The Fate of the Butterflie. Line 209.

Egeria! sweet creation of some heart

Which found no mortal resting-place so fair

As thine ideal breast.

Lord Byron 1788-1824: Childe Harold's Pilgrimage. Canto iv. Stanza 115.

Sleep sweetly, tender heart, in peace!

Sleep, holy spirit, blessed soul,

While the stars burn, the moons increase,

And the great ages onward roll.

Alfred Tennyson (1809-1892): To J. S.

Take thy beak from out my heart, and take thy form from off my door!

Quoth the Raven, "Nevermore."

Edgar A Poe (1811-1849): The Raven.

Tears, idle tears, I know not what they mean.

Tears from the depth of some divine despair

Rise in the heart and gather to the eyes,

In looking on the happy autumn-fields,

And thinking of the days that are no more.

Alfred Tennyson (1809-1892): The Princess. Part iv. Line 21.

Why should we faint and fear to live alone,

Since all alone, so Heaven has willed, we die?

Nor even the tenderest heart, and next our own,

Knows half the reasons why we smile and sigh.

John Keble (1792-1866): The Christian Year. Twenty-fourth Sunday after Trinity.

O hearts that break and give no sign

Save whitening lip and fading tresses!

Oliver Wendell Holmes (1809-1894): The Voiceless.

No, the heart that has truly lov'd never forgets,

But as truly loves on to the close;

As the sunflower turns on her god when he sets

The same look which she turn'd when he rose.

Thomas Moore (1779-1852): Believe me, if all those endearing young Charms.

Oh, many a shaft at random sent

Finds mark the archer little meant!

And many a word at random spoken

May soothe, or wound, a heart that's broken!

Sir Walter Scott (1771-1832): Lord of the Isles. Canto v. Stanza 18.

And the heart that is soonest awake to the flowers

Is always the first to be touch'd by the thorns.

Thomas Moore (1779-1852): Oh think not my Spirits are always as light.

Knowing that Nature never did betray

The heart that loved her.

William Wordsworth (1770-1850): Lines composed a few miles above Tintern Abbey.

Ne'er saw I, never felt, a calm so deep!

The river glideth at his own sweet will;

Dear God! the very houses seem asleep;

And all that mighty heart is lying still!

William Wordsworth (1770-1850): Earth has not anything to show more fair.

Alas! by some degree of woe

We every bliss must gain;

The heart can ne'er a transport know

That never feels a pain.

Lord Lyttleton (1709-1773): Song.

I knew, by the smoke that so gracefully curl'd

Above the green elms, that a cottage was near;

And I said, "If there's peace to be found in the world,

A heart that was humble might hope for it here."

Thomas Moore (1779-1852): Ballad Stanzas.

For May wol have no slogardie a-night.

The seson priketh every gentil herte,

And maketh him out of his slepe to sterte.

Geoffrey Chaucer (1328-1400): Canterbury Tales. The Knightes Tale. Line 1044.

Ward has no heart, they say, but I deny it:

He has a heart, and gets his speeches by it.

Samuel Rogers (1763-1855): Epigram.

What more felicitie can fall to creature

Than to enjoy delight with libertie,

And to be lord of all the workes of Nature,

To raine in th' aire from earth to highest skie,

To feed on flowres and weeds of glorious feature.

Edmund Spenser (1553-1599): Muiopotmos: or, The Fate of the Butterflie. Line 209.

True love's the gift which God has given

To man alone beneath the heaven:

It is not fantasy's hot fire,

Whose wishes soon as granted fly;

It liveth not in fierce desire,

With dead desire it doth not die;

It is the secret sympathy,

The silver link, the silken tie,

Which heart to heart and mind to mind

In body and in soul can bind.

Sir Walter Scott (1771-1832): Lay of the Last Minstrel. Canto v. Stanza 13.

I slept, and dreamed that life was Beauty;

I woke, and found that life was Duty.

Was thy dream then a shadowy lie?

Toil on, poor heart, unceasingly;

And thou shalt find thy dream to be

A truth and noonday light to thee.

Ellen Sturgis Hooper (1816-1841): Life a Duty.

Tongue nor heart

Cannot conceive nor name thee!

William Shakespeare (1564-1616): Macbeth. Act ii. Sc. 3.

Unpack my heart with words,

And fall a-cursing, like a very drab.

William Shakespeare (1564-1616): Hamlet. Act ii. Sc. 2.

What stronger breastplate than a heart untainted!

Thrice is he armed that hath his quarrel just,

And he but naked, though locked up in steel,

Whose conscience with injustice is corrupted.

William Shakespeare (1564-1616): King Henry VI. Part II. Act iii. Sc. 2.

Where'er I roam, whatever realms to see,

My heart untravell'd fondly turns to thee;

Still to my brother turns with ceaseless pain,

And drags at each remove a lengthening chain.

Oliver Goldsmith (1728-1774): The Traveller. Line 7.

I will wear my heart upon my sleeve

For daws to peck at.

William Shakespeare (1564-1616): Othello. Act i. Sc. 1.

But evil is wrought by want of thought,

As well as want of heart.

Thomas Hood (1798-1845): The Lady's Dream.

An honest man, close-button'd to the chin,

Broadcloth without, and a warm heart within.

William Cowper (1731-1800): Epistle to Joseph Hill.

His form was of the manliest beauty,

His heart was kind and soft;

Faithful below he did his duty,

But now he's gone aloft.

Charles Dibdin (1745-1814): Tom Bowling.

His heart was one of those which most enamour us,—

Wax to receive, and marble to retain.

Lord Byron 1788-1824: Beppo. Stanza 34.

To win the secret of a weed's plain heart.

James Russell Lowell (1819-1891): Sonnet xxv.

What female heart can gold despise?

What cat's averse to fish?

Thomas Gray (1716-1771): On the death of a Favourite Cat.

Forever, Fortune, wilt thou prove

An unrelenting foe to love;

And when we meet a mutual heart,

Come in between and bid us part?

James Thomson (1700-1748): Song.

His heart was one of those which most enamour us,—

Wax to receive, and marble to retain.

Lord Byron 1788-1824: Beppo. Stanza 34.

If there's delight in love, 't is when I see

That heart which others bleed for, bleed for me.

William Congreve (1670-1729): The Way of the World. Act iii. Sc. 12.

Give sorrow words: the grief that does not speak

Whispers the o'er-fraught heart and bids it break.

William Shakespeare (1564-1616): Macbeth. Act iv. Sc. 3.

Whose lines are mottoes of the heart,

Whose truths electrify the sage.

Thomas Campbell (1777-1844): Ode to the Memory of Burns.

And thus the heart will break, yet brokenly live on.

Lord Byron 1788-1824: Childe Harold's Pilgrimage. Canto iii. Stanza 32.

True beauty dwells in deep retreats,

Whose veil is unremoved

Till heart with heart in concord beats,

And the lover is beloved.

William Wordsworth (1770-1850): To ——. Let other Bards of Angels sing.

O limed soul, that, struggling to be free,

Art more engag'd! Help, angels! Make assay!

Bow, stubborn knees; and, heart with strings of steel,

Be soft as sinews of the new-born babe!

William Shakespeare (1564-1616): Hamlet. Act iii. Sc. 3.

Trust no future, howe'er pleasant!

Let the dead Past bury its dead!

Act, act in the living present!

Heart within, and God o'erhead!

Henry W Longfellow (1807-1882): A Psalm of Life.

Angels listen when she speaks:

She's my delight, all mankind's wonder;

But my jealous heart would break

Should we live one day asunder.

Earl Of Rochester (1647-1680): Song.

My way of life

Is fall'n into the sere, the yellow leaf;

And that which should accompany old age,

As honour, love, obedience, troops of friends,

I must not look to have; but in their stead

Curses, not loud but deep, mouth-honour, breath,

Which the poor heart would fain deny, and dare not.

William Shakespeare (1564-1616): Macbeth. Act v. Sc. 3.

Whose wit in the combat, as gentle as bright,

Ne'er carried a heart-stain away on its blade.

Thomas Moore (1779-1852): On the Death of Sheridan.

If I do prove her haggard,

Though that her jesses were my dear heart-strings,

I 'ld whistle her off and let her down the wind,

To prey at fortune.

William Shakespeare (1564-1616): Othello. Act iii. Sc. 3.

We live in deeds, not years; in thoughts, not breaths;

In feelings, not in figures on a dial.

We should count time by heart-throbs. He most lives

Who thinks most, feels the noblest, acts the best.

Life's but a means unto an end; that end

Beginning, mean, and end to all things,—God.

Philip James Bailey (1816-1902): Festus. Scene, A Country Town.